i carved your name across my eyelids
by nevermore199
Summary: She's had dreams about this. One-shot. House x Cameron, of a sort. Set during Love Hurts.


_the pains of love, and they keep growin',  
__in my heart, there's flowers growing  
__on the grave of our old love  
__since you gave me a straight answer._

* * *

_You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect._

-

The drive back to her apartment is quiet.

Cameron keeps her eyes firmly fixed out the window. She tries hard not to think about the dinner, or the flower still attached to her dress, or the man driving the car. She does not look at him.

All she wants right now is to get home, where she can curl up and cry in peace.

-

_You don't love. You need._

-

They pull into the parking lot of her building, and she has to work to keep herself from sighing with relief.

He cuts the engine, and says, "All right, then."

"Thank you," she says, very softly. "For tonight. It was…"

She struggles with the wording for a moment. "Nice" seems to carry the wrong connotation. "Great" has a similar problem. "Wonderful" just sounds weird.

"…nice," she finally decides, because it's the least painful and the one least likely to make her sound like an idiot.

"You're welcome," he replies.

She puts a hand on the door handle. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says.

"Yeah."

"Good night."

"Night."

There is a long silence, during which she is supposed to open the car door and get out and go up to her apartment and break down alone.

None of those things happen.

"You having trouble with that?" he asks finally.

She blushes, but does not answer.

"Something on your mind?" he presses.

She sighs. "Yes."

Another silence, this one longer than the first. The tension is so thick in the air that she could choke on it.

"You're wrong," she says finally, so quiet that she can barely hear herself.

He looks at her.

"What you said," she clarifies. "About…how I feel."

He sighs and clenches his hand around the steering wheel. Then unclenches. Then clenches again.

Eventually, he says, "I don't think I am."

She is silent at his words.

Another long pause, and then he adds, "This isn't what you want."

For the first time since the restaurant, she looks at him. He is staring at her with a strange look on his face—a mix of resignation, something, and pity so faint that she's almost sure she's imagining it.

She doesn't try to hide her confusion. "What do you mean?"

"_I'm_ not what you want," he finishes.

"House—"

"You…" He pauses. "You're a beautiful young woman who loves children and puppies and donating to homeless shelters." He half-smiles. "You deserve better."

"What if I don't want better?" she demands.

"Then you're an idiot."

She can't help but chuckle a little. "I don't need you to tell me that."

He looks at her speculatively. "You knew what I was going to say," he states.

"Yes," she says simply.

"If you knew what was going to happen tonight, then why did you push for this?" he asks.

A sad smile spreads across her face. "I had a shot," she says. "I took it." She glances over at him. "And…I wanted to hear it from you," she adds quietly.

He lets out a sigh and places his hand on the steering wheel.

She looks briefly out the window. Then she turns back. Her eyes—unrelenting, unafraid—lock on him.

"If I cared what you were going to say, I wouldn't have asked for this," she finishes.

There is a long, seemingly endless silence that lingers in the aftermath of her words. She isn't sure if it's a good silence or a bad one.

But, suddenly, everything seems to be a little bit too much.

With one hand, she reaches for the door handle, and at that same moment his hand reaches out and touches her waist.

They both stop.

Eventually, he is the one to move first. His hand goes lower, playing with the bottom of her dress before lifting it just a little.

She does not try to stop him.

-

_I'm damaged._

-

The transition from car to apartment to bedroom is awkward and broken, as is the shift from clothed to naked. She barely notices, because her mind is so far away that she's surprised she's even still here.

-

Just before they tumble into bed, she sees him accidentally step on the corsage, still pinned to the dress lying on the floor.

It is the first and only time that night that she flinches.

He doesn't notice that, either.

-

His touch burns, in more ways that one.

She can already feel the bruises—on her thighs and on her heart.

-

When he comes, he lets out a long sigh—not one of satisfaction, but more of relief. She tries not to read anything from it, just like she tries not to read anything from the look on his face—plastic, unmoving; a thin-lipped stare that looks directly at her and right on through.

-

When she comes, she doesn't make a sound, because she doesn't know what sound to make. Instead, she keeps quiet and focuses on the sound of his breathing, hard and raspy.

-

He never tries to kiss her.

She never asks.

-

She keeps her eyes open the entire time, because she doesn't want to miss anything.

-

_I'm damaged._

-

After, they lie still in her bed, miles apart.

He falls asleep first, and she stares at the ceiling for a long time, focusing on the sound of his breathing, so soft in the darkness.

-

She's had dreams about this.

-

_Damaged._

-

In the early hours of the morning, her eyes are finally closed. She doesn't see him slip out of bed, doesn't see him wander around gathering his clothes.

All she hears is the silence, thick in the air as he lingers at the door before disappearing.

When he's gone, tears stream freely down her face, and she bites down hard on her lip to keep from crying out.

-

_I have one evening with you. One chance. And I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate._

_I want to know how you feel._

_About me._

* * *

**I was falling asleep at 11:30 PM a few nights ago, and I got this idea, and I got up, grabbed my laptop, and stayed up for another hour and a half writing the first draft of this. So keep in mind that not only is this my first House one-shot, but most of this was written in the middle of the night.**

**The lyrics at the beginning, as well as the title, come from the song "Crown of Love" by Arcade Fire.**

**And while I'm here, I might as well do the obligatory shameless spamming--I have a collection of House haikus, called just a little bit...You should totally go read it. :D**

**Aaaaaaand now I'm out. Laters!**


End file.
